Therapy
by Rinny Z
Summary: -cough- oO; Gaz's POV, One-shot, and a good summary inside. I am so tired... it would make me happy if you read and reviewed. D


More angst. Yay for you who like it, too bad for those that don't.  
  
Gaz's POV. Very vague. Basically, she's just in therapy. I dunno. Don't make me talk much.

Hm... I wrote this when I was, again, feeling depressed. Oo;

ANYHOO... I will take a break from writing for a few weeks. Sorreh. One, I feel the past few fics I've written could have turned out better. I need to rest a bit. Two, I will be going on vacation to Mexico, and won't be able to access a computer. -shrugs-

Oh well. 00"  
  
Disclaimer: I no own nothing.  
  
Let the fic... start. oo;  
  
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I just don't know where to begin with this.  
  
You sit there, telling me it's okay, telling me there's nothing wrong with me.  
  
Fuck you.  
  
How do you know there's nothing wrong with me?  
  
Now that I think about it, how do you know there's nothing wrong with you?  
  
Face it. All you have as, "proof" is a degree in psychology, and we all know that psychology's basic message is,  
  
"If you think differently, if you make no sense to science, you are broken, and need to be fixed."  
  
One such case being me.  
  
I think more in one day than you do in a year.  
  
I feel more strongly than you've ever felt.  
  
I feel enough to do something about it.  
  
But that's why I'm here, right?  
  
I'm such a hypocrit. How do I know you don't understand me?  
  
For all I know you could be the same as me.  
  
The thought makes me chuckle, and I see your worried look.  
  
Worried looks hidden behind a smile.  
  
"Do you remember when you started feeling so bad, Gaz? Do you remember when your life became unpleasant?"  
  
You look at me in an understanding way.  
  
Ha ha. I bet all shrinks get plastic surgery to be able to look so understanding and kind in the face of something as ugly as me.  
  
What kind of question is that, anyway? Is there a specific time when feelings start?  
  
I don't know.  
  
My sense of time is dead.  
  
Minutes merged into hours, merged into days, merged into weeks, and somehow, inexplicably, merged into seconds.  
  
I don't like time.  
  
It's one of the many things I can't escape.  
  
All my life, I've been trapped in the present.  
  
I move towards the future, hoping it's better, but the future is never here, it nears me and disappears, replaced by that ugly monotonous present.  
  
I hate your eyes.  
  
They look fake. And real. They look really fake... wait... uh...?  
  
I don't like myself much.  
  
As you may have noticed.  
  
Believe it or not, I feel better than I have in a long time.  
  
Ever since it happened... I've been expecting something like being thrown in jail... given the death penalty...  
  
In an odd way, I kind of looked forward to it.  
  
I'd die, and it wouldn't be through a weak, selfish suicide.  
  
It'd be through a well-deserved punishment.  
  
I see your expectant stare, but I'm not gonna talk.  
  
I don't want to.  
  
And you can't make me. Your job is to, "help me", not force me into confession.  
  
So I'll just talk to myself in my head some more. Tee hee.  
  
Well.... I'd just been having a really bad day, you know.  
  
Yes. I know. Of course... I am myself, after all.  
  
I was having a hard time controlling myself, snapping at everyone, stomping around...  
  
I couldn't even focus on my Game Slave!  
  
I hate Skool, and my father, and my brother, and that Zim, who thinks he has permission to hate my brother when only I do, and... everything.  
  
Everything that finds a way to be happy, when so many like me are drowning in what seems to be the peak of human pain.  
  
I know.  
  
I already admitted that I'm a hypocrit.  
  
Dammit, stop staring at me! I won't talk to you!  
  
I hate the way your eyes meet mine with fake care and kindness. I try to turn them away with my hate and anger.  
  
Stop staring please... please.  
  
Well, it wasn't my fault.  
  
He got in my way.  
  
He was so happy. He had no right. He was hated by many, mocked by most, he was... different.  
  
Oh my. Is that my hypocrasy showing?  
  
He looked at me, and said, "Hi!"  
  
I. Never. Fucking. Asked. Him. To. TALK. TO. ME.  
  
So I punched him.  
  
Never meant to go farther than that, I assure you.  
  
I assure who?  
  
I just kind of... lost control.  
  
And the next thing I knew, he was at my feet, sleeping...  
  
No... he was unconcious.... maybe even dead...  
  
I was confused. I didn't know...  
  
Everyone was making noise!  
  
I hate the noise! Squeaks, yells, pointing, yelling, "Get the nurse!", "She did it!"...  
  
All their accusations...  
  
Dib stared at me.  
  
I wanted to kill him.  
  
He... he shouldn't... care!  
  
I never cared for him, he shouldn't care for me!  
  
He tried to come near me, but I slapped him.  
  
Heh heh.  
  
How pathetic. I slapped him.  
  
Zim seemed... bemused.  
  
He was staring at the whole scene with a mixture of disgust, confusion, anger, and amusement.  
  
And then the nurse came.  
  
They sent a police car down.  
  
They took me somewhere. I didn't really pay attention.  
  
Ffft. Fuck him. I never meant to hurt Old Kid. Not much, anyway...  
  
And... I don't remember.  
  
Has it been days? Weeks? Months? Is he dead? Am I dead? Are we real? Nothing can exist if there is no one to acknowledge it...  
  
I don't want to exist.  
  
Stop staring at me.  
  
My mind hurts again. It hurts...  
  
I just don't want to think.  
  
I just want to ignore all of this. I want to ignore you, everything that happened, myself...  
  
Nothing can exist with no one to acknowledge it...  
  
If I don't acknowledge you, or myself, or anything...  
  
Then nothing will exist for me. No more pain...  
  
Ha! I am so clever. Yes. That is the solution.  
  
Don't aknowledge them. They don't exist, neither do you...  
  
You sigh heavily.

"Time is up, Gaz."  
  
Wha!? Oh.  
  
Right. Time. Okay then. I need to stop talking to myself.  
  
I look at you... you seem upset. Dissapointed. At yourself.  
  
Glad to be of assistance to you.  
  
I hate you. Someday I will rip out your veins and strangle you with them.  
  
Until then, my dear little therapist. Heh heh heh.  
  
My chuckles unnerve you... it makes me happy when you are unnerved by me. Or as close to happy as I'll ever get.  
  
Now I am being led back to my room.  
  
You look relieved. We can't have that, now can we?  
  
I smirk up at you, and speak for the first time in the past 2 hours.  
  
"See you next Wednesday."  
  
Your horrified look amuses me.  
  
I am such a sadist. And I know just what to say to unnerve you even more.  
  
"Just kidding!! Ha ha! No need to worry about THAT, I will be a corpse by next Wednesday!"  
  
...And I am led laughing back to my room.  
  
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Yaay, Gaz went insane. Oo

People always go insane in my fics. Nyeh. -shrugs-

I just realized, that I write a lot about things I don't understand.  
  
I've never been to a therapist, or killed anyone, or cut, or killed myself... it makes me feel as if all my angst fics are weak mockeries of real emotion.  
  
I write angst to get my feelings out in... healthy ways. Well, healthier than cutting or suicide. But... I just can't help but think that all my writings mock people who know what it's like.  
  
Maybe I shouldn't write angst anymore.... Review please.


End file.
